Bulletproof Jewels Chapter 25: Nightmares and hinges, an anastasia fanfic

Trigger Warning: Some suicidal ideation from one of the characters. Only contemplation, not planning or considering it or anything like that.

Perm. August 1st, 1918.

Olga Nikolaevna Romanova.

I woke up today screaming for my brother. I probably woke everyone else as well. It was a strange dream which did not take place back when that man took him. Instead, he was back inside the god-awful cellar where our parents were murdered, being bayoneted by dozens of men. Dozens. And yet none of what happened is farfetched, which reminds me I should not be thinking about my brother. It is way too painful.

Thinking about my sisters is also painful, for everything is happening way too slowly. As I lie in bed doing absolutely nothing, the sound the clock on top of my room's bureau makes grows increasingly irritating with each passing second.

Just yesterday, I gave Galina instructions on how to sneak information out of the Blue House. Late in the evening today, I will be meeting her again at the marketplace, but the hour does not seem to come.

It is hard enough being stuck inside a house full of men and with nothing to do. With no friends or family. With nothing but my horrible memories to keep me company. The maid is the only other woman who is often around. Dunia is always nice, and despite knowing it is silly, her presence makes me feel safe, but I suppose she has more important things to do than talk to a crazy woman.

Save for praying, I have no freedom to do anything other than stay inside the boring house and read the Bible or Russian classics from the library all day long. I would have had my nose stuck in one of the many poetry books they have weeks before. Attempting to do any of that now only reminds me of mama instructing my siblings and I on the meaning of each passage or papa reading "War and Peace" to us. It saddens me terribly. It angers me terribly. I am so furious about what they did to them. No trial and a joke for a warning are all they gave papa. I cannot stop thinking about it. I miss them both intensely.

I am not even allowed to play the piano, and I truly miss doing so. A sad melody has been dancing around my head for a while now. It is a new one, of that I am sure. I hadn't tried to compose anything in weeks, and just when I long to do so the most, any sound coming from inside the house could attract attention, or so these men claim. I wonder if they know how much noise their infuriatingly loud and very English arguments make and how much they stand out in a Russian city.

Not that I am going to forget anyway. The melody is there, it will always be there, grieving, haunted, and desperate to come out.

Yesterday, after talking to Galina, I tried to take advantage of the fact I was already outside to go to church but was immediately prevented from doing so by Erik, who said that stepping out of the house at all had been dangerous enough for me already. I protested for a second, but then he grabbed my arm, my heart skipped a beat, and I instantly gave up. What else could I have done? Assault him with my knife for doing his job and trying to protect me? Give him a reason to sabotage my sisters' rescue mission out of pure sheer pettiness? He could have, I did not know him enough to think of him as incapable. It was not worth the trouble.

I did pray later back in the house, but I still long for church. I have to go soon. I hope I can use my mission as an excuse to go. Something should be done about my sinful feelings of hatred and despair.

I am still mad at Erik for having dared to grab my arm. I still fear him for it. I fear all of them. They remind me of pain, almost making me feel it all over again. The mere sight of those men coming together to talk about the most mundane of subjects or even just acknowledging my existence turns me into a panicking mess. It is worse when I disagree with them. My heart races at an incredible speed that hurts. It truly hurts along with my entire chest. My hands sweat as I clutch my knife and start thinking of the ease with which they would overpower me. I imagine how painful it would be, how sharp. Again. I fail to breathe. For minutes I can only dread and dread the idea of dying before getting to see my sisters again. It is absolutely terrifying.

This has happened several times. Twice it did when I tried to make my grievances about the boredom, fear, and uncertainty I am experiencing in this house heard. One of them will always ask Dunia to take me back to my room so that I can rest. This with kindness I recently learned to be false. Just five minutes ago, I spied on them behind the wall that separates the living room from the dining room.

"She is absolutely hysterical", one of them was saying.

"Any woman of her station would be given the circumstances", James Wilson came surprisingly close to defending me.

"I wonder what His Majesty will have to say about this mess of a situation", a different voice pondered. "Her sisters could still have value assuming the political concerns regarding England's future diplomatic ties with Russia brought about by this reckless rescue mission do not outweigh the prestige their names may offer the British Crown, but she is an embarrassment."

"It is too early to think about that, the Bolsheviks will be done away with", the man I first heard talking pointed out, and after sighing, he added: "They have to, and whatever more moderate arrangement takes their place may even thank us for offering the unthreatening Grand Duchesses asylum. I have no clue as to what the three younger sisters may or may not be useful for. His Majesty may want to make one of them his daughter-in-law while their former status is fresh on people's minds. Their Romanov relatives may want to use them as figureheads for the loyal Russians in exile. Whatever ends up happening with the youngest three, however, it is conceivable that the one staying with us now will be sent away to a mad house for the sake of her relatives. "

"It would be for the best", Wilson agreed almost without hesitation. "They cannot have that woman further damaging the dignity of the Russian Empire's former ruling family. Receiving treatment in some secluded sanitarium would be the best for the lady as well."

"Which reminds me, there have been several improvements to the treatment of these typically female symptoms," Randall commented, "have any of you heard of Sigmund Freud?"

I feel pathetic just admitting it to myself, but I feel so unsafe without my father around me, like a little girl. The short conversation about Freud quickly shifted back to my hysteria. Some even called it madness.

Only when I heard them chuckling awkwardly about my suffering did I finally decide to go back to my room. All I wanted to do was run to my papa and let him take care of the situation. But he was gone. One of my many terrifying episodes had to occur just as I was climbing up the stairs. I can only pray they did not hear me panting and struggling for air.

I really do not trust these men. They do not respect me. They are lower than insects in my eyes. I can only guess that duty is the only thing stopping them from… I can only trust Charles, and yet he did not stand up for me. Erik doesn't seem as bad either, but we are definitely not friends, and I have not seen him since he accompanied me to see Galina anyway. I do not want any new friends right now though. I just want my sisters back.

And yet my former self would have been a stronger Christian. She would have refused to become this cold, resentful and ungrateful. I do not believe she would have recognized me as herself at all. The worst part is that deep down, I only want to be ruder to the agents. I long to be, but my sisters' futures are in their hands.

The time comes for me to meet Galina again. Erik will not be the one escorting me, but Randall. He and I got off on the wrong foot, so this will surely be awkward.

I look at myself in the mirror one last time as I adjust the white headscarf over my bun. I am wearing the boots they gave me yesterday along with a new long brown dress of short sleeves with white hems as edges. The small white buttons lined down vertically splitting my chest are also white.

When I woke up, the swelling was completely gone, but one of my eyes is clearly smaller than the other still, smaller and now a messy rainbow of blue, purple, and yellow that would catch anyone's attention. I do have to cover my face as much as I can.

Not that I regret what I did, but the agents would have definitely planned this more thoroughly. The outdoor marketplace Galina frequents is not here this late in the evening. I am standing by the church in front of the plaza. Randall is standing at a different corner right across from me. I can see him leaning on a façade and pretending to be waiting for someone in order to disguise the fact he is watching me carefully. There are only a few stalls left, and even then some of the remaining vendors are leaving.

The poor dear will not have a good enough excuse to leave the house. I was so desperate yesterday that as soon as sweet Galina agreed to help me, I made plans for us to meet right the next day, but even later. I did this so that she and my sisters had time to gather enough information. I promised to be there without caring one bit about what the agents had actually instructed me to do. I was impatient. I am still impatient.

Time goes by. I feel as if it had been an hour since I started waiting for Galina. She is not here yet.

I decide to wait a while longer. A small delay is no cause for concern.

After a few minutes, I ask some of the people around me if they know what time it is. Only one man is able to give me an accurate answer. The owner of a small golden pocket watch.

Galina is little less than an hour late. Becoming unnerved, I walk from one side of the church to the other. More seconds pass. Minutes. Nothing.

I look around at the people walking by and see a priest entering the church along with a few nuns. I see soldiers, old men wearing baggy pants and dark caps, and women wearing long skirts and headscarves like mine, both old and young, but my eyes search desperately for only one elderly woman in particular, and when they fail to spot that familiar face, my heart decides to act out. It starts beating fast. My chest tightens. I feel my teeth chattering. My body starts trembling as well.

It is happening again. My head hurts all of the sudden. And Galina still not here.

I struggle to breathe. Initially, I try doing so way too fast. Then I remember what the doctors used to tell mama whenever this happened to her. I take slow deep breaths… but none seems to be deep enough. None satisfies my thirst for air. I lean on the yellow wall of the church and start panting. I am choking. Oh, God, why is she not here?!

Trying to take slow deep breaths is not working. This cannot just be the nerves. My lungs must be truly damaged some way or another… no, they are, that is why I have no air. My eyes move desperately. Now it is dark, great! And Galina is nowhere to be found. I am going to faint. I may even die. A single panicked cry escapes my throat as I sink down to the floor covering my tight chest with my hands.

I am going to faint or die, or faint and die, and my sisters will have no one left to fight for them. They are going to be killed and then everyone will forget about us.

Tears have already started rolling down my cheeks when I feel someone grab my shoulder. Still panting, I jump for fright and stand up quicker than I ever thought possible.

I know it is a man before even looking at his face. It is as if I could recognize their touch by now. The next thing I realize is that he is not Randall.

Oleg Ivanovich Shchedrin.

I haven't felt this furious in a long time. The worst part is that I cannot take my anger out on anyone who is actually responsible. The Grand Duchesses are just doing what they can to survive. My naïve, naïve grandmother could have gotten herself killed had I not stopped her, but despite my initial reaction, I cannot truly remain angry at her for having dared to be a compassionate person.

I was pretty much fuming when I started interrogating my grandmother earlier today. I asked her what was going on, and after some back and forward argument during which I accidentally made her cry, she revealed everything to me.

I can at least be mad about the situation. I guess that will do for now.

"Hey! Hey!" I hear a familiar voice shout from across the street. I ignore it and keep walking. "Oleg! Hey! Don't be like this!"

I am sure I am speeding up, but Zoya catches up regardless.

"Why were you avoiding me?" She walks beside me. "Are you busy? I haven't seen you in a while, how are you?"

I shrug without stopping.

"Last week I asked my uncle if there was a vacant post for you at the place where he works", she says. "He is a member of the factory committee, you know? I told him you were an engineer, and he said they are very much needed!"

"That was very kind of you", I tell her, not wishing to be excessively rude.

"I talked to your grandmother so that she could give you the message", Zoya continues. "Did she?"

"She did."

"Well?" She gets in my way and looks up at me with her hypnotizing bright green eyes, having to raise her chin rather drastically in order to do so properly. "We havenʼt received an answer."

Zoya is a short skinny brunette, although she cleverly hides her height by wearing a long hobble skirt, which is purple and several shades darker than her light violet blouse. Before the revolution, she would have probably worn one of those silly flowered hats as well. I haven't seen a single woman wearing one in moths. They are probably considered excessive and frivolous nowadays, and Zoya barely questions anything. The poor girl would always chase the more popular girls around, pathetically imitating their French tastes and fashions in the hopes that one day she would be accepted into their group. She never was, at least not consistently. They would want her one day and shun her the next.

At 24, my childhood friend is only two years younger than me, but her voice is so high pitched that she still gives the impression of being nothing but a schoolgirl. Her voice was even worse back when she was in fact a schoolgirl though. As small boys, Anton and I would call her parrot and mock her relentlessly.

Luckily for Zoya, my twin brother and I did grow out of our childish cruelty. Both her parents were among our schoolteachers, so ours was a friendship of convenience at the beginning, but we ended up liking her. I ended up really liking her.

I am suddenly reminded of the way the three of us became friends. I remember other things too. The many happy memories sting now that Anton isn't here for me to share them with.

Zoya is still looking at me with her arms crossed, tapping a foot against the ground and playfully raising one of her eyebrows. She is clearly waiting for an answer I don't have time to give, an answer I am not in the mood to give.

"Of course, your offer, I am so sorry about that", my tone comes out rather cynical when I finally reply, "but I haven't had time to consider it, you see, I was planning to kill myself." I finish somewhat airily, patting Zoya on the back and nodding without betraying a trace of emotion. Then I start walking faster.

"Oh, dear!" Zoya's brow furrows in worry as she treads on my heels, barely keeping up. "Oleg, you can't just say something like that and then leave!" She grabs my shoulder.

"It was a joke, love", I pull away rather condescendingly. "I am working somewhere else and have no use for your help right now, thank you, so if you will excuse me."

I can't say I wouldn't love for this torture to end already, but I truly do have things to do, especially now, and I am not dramatic enough to pull something like that off.

"Not funny!" Zoya whines, which only makes me walk faster. "And your grandmother told me that you were wasting your talents and education", she proceeds to scold me, still following me closely behind, "keep it up, fool! You are going to lose practice."

"I am not as forgetful as you, Zoya", I roll my eyes without looking back. Unlike her parents, she was never the brightest of students. "And I am busy!"

"How busy can you be with that bouquet of flowers in your hands?!"

That does make me stop in my tracks. I look down at the bouquet of orange flowers I am holding. I can hardly believe I am actually doing something as stupid and most likely useless. Where were those foreigners weeks ago and why can't they do the job themselves without getting innocent locals involved?

Not only did I keep her from following through with the plan, I also forbid my grandmother from getting in contact with those people ever again. Her tears moved me though. Her bravery and compassion moved me. Realizing how desperate the Grand Duchesses truly were moved me as well. They are not oblivious. They know what their only chances are.

I turn around and face Zoya again.

"Am I really that easy to forget about?" She jokingly asks with a somewhat shy smirk.

"They are for my mother", I explain, only half-lying.

My grandmother's plan to smuggle the information the Grand Duchesses had provided her with wasn't too clever when taking into account the meticulous searches Commander Ignant Iliaovich had started implementing recently. Whenever anyone tries to leave or enter the house, the only item of clothing that remains intact is their underwear.

The girls had smartly used the paint and brushes to hide the fact they weren't planning on creating a masterpiece, but writing things down. Folding the full pieces of paper inside my grandmother's pockets and shoes as they intended to would have definitely not gone unnoticed though, and because I would never have managed to soothe the kind woman who raised me any other way, I am now doing more for the Romanovs than Andrei ever did.

I wonder what he would say. I feel slightly smug about it, and if my brother and I were to ever meet again, I would definitely not hide it.

Having worked out a different strategy with my grandmother, I returned to the commander and lied, telling him that today was the anniversary of my mother's death. For this reason, I explained, and because I had been refusing to accompany my grandmother to the cemetery all day long, she had been left with no choice but to go alone later than usual.

"Maybe that is why she has been so irritable, which is uncharacteristic of her", I tried to sound natural as I provided Commander Iliaovich with what I prayed for the first time in years would prove to be a good enough excuse for my grandmother's strange behavior. "She wanted to leave her flowers as well and has been lamenting that now no one is going to. It is my fault really, I have been an inconsiderate grandson, and now there must be no one left selling flowers."

"I understand Oleg", the commander touched my shoulder as he replied with a gentle tone that genuinely surprised me. "And do not worry, I doubt there is a single stand still selling flowers near the church, but there is a new shop that closes later just one or two kilometers west from here, I don't know if you have seen it already, but I can take you both in the motorca…"

"That won't be necessary", I shook my head and waved my hands, but I soon realized that my interruption had sounded rushed and maybe even defensive. My heart skipped a beat. "Thanks a lot, commander," I quickly corrected my mistake. "I know what shop you are talking about, but to be honest, I don't want my grandmother anywhere outside this late, not even with people around protecting her. She will start to get used to it."

"Smart", Commander Iliaovich admitted with a few nods.

"Why is Galina not accompanying you?" Zoya asks with discernible worry, crossing her arms. Her tone isn't accusatory, as it was before. This is a genuine question.

"A cold", I reply, this time without rush. Zoya simply nods.

"Do you want me to come along?" She then offers. "Just so you don't have to be alone there."

I close my eyes, shake my head, and smile by way of answer.

She sighs. "There are still people who care about you, you know? I do." Despite her useless words and lack of understanding, Zoya doesn't sound nagging.

"I know", I nod, looking down and trying my best to appear grateful for her sake. "Thank you."

"Tell Galina I said hi", she humorously points a finger at me, "and make sure she takes care of herself."

Finally, she starts walking away in the opposite direction from which I came from.

"I will", I wave a hand at her. I will. I truly will. "Say hi to your parents for me, will you?"

It is already quite dark when I get to the church. Only two merchants left in the courtyard. I wonder if that woman wearing a brown dress and kneeling by the façade is Olga. None of the others is.

I know it took me a while to sort things out with my grandmother. I know it took time for me to buy the flowers as well, but I truly hope I am not too late.

I climb up the stairs that lead to the frontage surrounding the building and approach the kneeling woman, who is covering her face with her arms. She is sobbing as well, I come to realize, sobbing and panting.

What am I supposed to do now? Walk away? I can't do that, she could definitely be Olga.

I slowly lean over and touch her shoulder, feeling quite awkward about it, and when she straightens up in a quick frightened jump, I realize I was right to be hesitant.

Her white headscarf does little to cover the noticeable bruising on one of her eyes, which are wide open in fear.

"It is me!" I exclaim, dropping the flowers in surprise. "It is me!"

I sense some recognition in her expression, but it still takes a while for her to steady her breathing and stop panting.

"Oh", she gasps for air, seemingly embarrassed. Turning around, she uses the palm of her hand to sign at me to be patient.

Dear God, what happened to her? Was it a consequence of her escape? Did it happen before or…? What beast…? Who…?

Not wishing to make her even more uncomfortable, I too turn around without wasting time and make sure nobody is watching before I swiftly take the folded pieces of paper from my underpants, glad for Olga's convenient distraction.

She is still working on soothing herself. I was planning on yelling at her, on giving her a piece of my mind about the way she had gotten my grandmother involved in her reckless spy mission. Now I can't, which is just… ugh! Perfect.

A few more minutes go by before Olga faces me again. I notice her tears have been wiped out.

"Why didn't Galina come?" She is clearly worried, which immediately infuriates me. "Is she all right? Did something happen to her?"

"Oh, so now you care about her", I blurt out, but the shock in her eyes makes me regret this almost immediately. That vulnerable expression of hers is even more noticeable now. It makes me lower my head in shame for a second.

"Please", she insists, "how is she? Did they find out?"

"She is fine", I answer dryly, looking up at her again. "But what were you thinking? My grandmother is old and frail, why not ask me?"

Her agitation is greater. It takes her a while to answer.

"My sisters are also in danger, all right?" Tears well up in her eyes. "I don't even know how much time we have left, and they took Alexei…" Olga's voice breaks at the mention of her brother, "so I am betting all I have left to live for on this to work."

Oh, great, now she is crying! I can't think objectively any longer. It is too much pity. My mind imagines the worst. Her. What she went through. That kid. So much potential and now dead. Dead or about to be. He delicate face being smashed by some brute and then…

She wipes her tears, seemingly waiting for me to say something, but I stay silent. That seems to anger her.

"I guess you are waiting for me to apologize", Olga speaks accusingly, "to tell you how ashamed I am for seizing the first opportunity that was presented to me." I can tell she is trying to sound sarcastic, but she simply sounds desperate, as if she were trying to convince herself. "The agents had seen Galina walking around the marketplace several times before. You? Not so much."

"Alright, alright", I gesture for her to calm down, but all my sudden hand movements do is make her flinch.

"Sorry", she looks down.

"There is nothing to be sorry for", I say softly.

I consider asking her what happened to her and her kid brother. I consider inquiring about what those British agents of hers are planning. Is it dangerous for the people living in the house? For Igor? For my grandmother? She picks up on the fact I am holding something in my right hand before I am able to ask any of that though.

"Is that…?"

"Yes", I hand her the papers over. "This is all the information your sisters gathered, but there is more they don't know about the house that I wanted to tell you in person, although it would have been preferable to meet one of the agents instead, or a messenger especially hired for this", I pause for a few seconds to see if she is aware of where this is going, but she stays silent. "Why did you come? Isn't doing so more dangerous for you? Would it not be all the more suspicious if anyone were to see us and recognize you?"

"I didn't plan this ahead", Olga blushes, shamefaced. "I was simply sent to convince Galina to help us. She… she said she feared providing the wrong man with the information by mistake and I just… I promised to be there the next day to soothe her worries."

"That was kind of you", I admit, but for some reason all my well intentioned comment does is manage to make her appear even more nervous.

"It would have been less scary for her to see a familiar face", Olga sighs, "but I was also desperate, I… the real reason…. the true reason I asked her to come see me in person today is that the agents had instructed me to inform her she would be meeting someone else in two days. It was not nearly soon enough."

"You sabotaged their plan to get your way?!" I raise my voice, making Olga step back in fear.

"I am sorry, Oleg", she weeps, "they even scolded me for it, but I was losing my mind, I still am…"

"Hey, hey, it is fine, it is fine", I all but whisper, trying to comfort her. I have learnt from experience and so avoid approaching her. "This thing may work, just… just don't contact my grandmother ever again, all right? I will help you. I will help your sisters."

"Thank you Oleg", she chokes down a sob.

"I just need to know what those foreigners are planning. I know they have… I… not all… there are good men working in that house, Olga."

As if summoned by my mention, a dark haired man approaches us.

"This is Galina's grandson, Randall", Olga informs the newcomer as if anticipating his first question. "He is going to help us instead."

I tell them everything I know about the mansion and the guards' routine. Everything I know about the commander and the people he receives orders from, which is not much, but I truly hope at least some of what I said and smuggled out of the house can be of use anyway.

I made it clear that in return, I expected the safety of my grandmother and that of the other guards to be guaranteed, that of Igor and Denis in particular. I was utterly disappointed.

For my grandmother I didn't have to fear, Randall promised, and he would try to figure something out with regards to the kid, Denis. As for the rest, he could not assure me that the use of force would not be needed against them if they happened to resist. Olga was visibly uncomfortable, but she didn't protest what the Englishman said.

It would all depend on me and my lousy persuasion skills. I cannot tell the other guards about the plan, of course. Several of them truly do sympathize with the Bolsheviks wholeheartedly. A few are Bolsheviks. Some others may simply turn out to be self-serving snitches, and even those hoping to help the girls by letting them escape could be accidentally indiscreet. But Randall promised to make sure I am informed beforehand of where and when his team will strike. I will have to be ready to keep everyone out of harm's way by using any ridiculous excuse at hand.

I left the church with a huge weight on my shoulders. What did I get myself and everyone else into? If any of those guards dies or gets hurt in the process, it will be my fault. No ifs nor buts. My fault. It will be just like the war, when my friend Roman, and Vasily… and Anton, Anton, Anton, just like when… I almost wish I had the courage to tell Randall that I will not offer any assistance, the courage to turn him and the others over to the authorities because this feels wrong, this is wrong, wrong, wrong, almost like the war was, and yet…

As I walked away, the last thing I heard from Olga and the Englishman was an argument. She was complaining about not being allowed to enter the church that was right in front of her. Randall was reminding her that she had been outside long enough.

My chest tightened. She is a prisoner even when she is not. They are most likely going to kill the girls if I do anything but help those foreigners, and how is that possibility any less wrong?

The three Grand Duchesses were already sleeping by the time I returned home. I did visit the cemetery to leave my mother the flowers before that though. It was supposed to be just a cover, but I had bought them after all.

I felt something when I visited my mother's grave, and this for the first time since I was a little boy. For some reason, I have even become bizarrely melancholic about the fact I never met her. I know her face from pictures, but not her voice, so I try to remember how it sounded like as I move from one side of the bed to the other, trying to sleep. I am unable to do either of those things.

Would my mother feel proud of what I have become? Would my father? Probably not. I have been a hateful and indifferent creature, hiding all day long inside my childhood home.

My oldest brother didn't take my indifference to the October revolution too well. To be honest, all I wanted was an end to the war, to return to the Blue House, take care of my grandmother, and drown in the last remaining bits of my childhood. Enjoy the memories. I couldn't care less about who was in control of the future, for I didn't think I could bear another day more. I still don't.

Now I am paying for it.

Perm. August 2nd, 1918.

"Wait, Anton!" I try to scream, but the words don't come out.

He is still running ahead of me, way ahead. Shells are exploding around us and I can't reach him, their unbearably loud noise making the image of my brother blurrier and blurrier with each passing second.

"You are going to get yourself killed, Anton!" I think, but I can't speak.

The screams begin. A mess of blood and gore appears in front of me. He cries. I don't know who this is, but I know he is important. I try to find his wounds, but there are way too many, too many, there is too much blood, so much, so much, I am drenched in it and can't concentrate with all of those men wailing in agony around me.

They scream, the women are also screaming. What are they doing here?!

"Go away!" I shout desperately. Please just leave, this isn't the place for you. And who is the bloody genius that allowed women to enlist?

But they keep screaming.

Oh.

The Grand Duchesses are screaming again.

I open my eyes and look around the room. Igor is trying but failing to fall asleep again by using one of the pillows to cover his head. My friend is alive, and he must be so tired that he doesn't even appear to be about to yell at the ceiling as he usually does whenever the girls have nightmares. There is no blood anywhere, just sweat sticking uncomfortably to my skin.

I breathe in and out deeply, many times.

The three women are still screaming, now louder than they ever have. It has to stop sooner or later. Maybe I should just go back to sleep.

"Shut up!" Igor can finally be heard. I close my eyes again.

"Help! Help!" They keep yelling. They have shouted a great variety of words in their sleep before, including those. Their dog is also barking a lot, which is even more irritating than the screams.

"Shut that dog up! Shut up!" Igor seems to be thinking the same thing, but he is not even yelling at the ceiling now, not truly. My friend is so exhausted that all he is able to do is complain out loud knowing too damn well none of the women upstairs will hear.

It sounds as if the girls were repeatedly knocking on a door as well. They have bumped into things and fallen off their beds several times already. Maria told me so. Igor and I have heard it. That might be it.

Then a man groans in pain. The sound is barely audible, but I am certain it comes from upstairs. Something must be, in fact, wrong. But it is only when I hear the dog whimper that I spring into action.

"Let's go!" I uncover and shake my friend.

"What is the matter with you?" Igor holds on to his blanket, frowning, but then the dog whines again, louder this time. Igor opens his eyes wide and jumps out of bed.

Having picked up our rifles, Igor and I climb up the stairs faster than I ever thought possible. All of this in our pajamas. We don't need to knock on the girls' bedroom door or even search for them. The two youngest are bawling their eyes out, screaming and hitting the bathroom door with their palms. When we get there, Maria turns around for a second.

"Help us!" She cries.

"What is going on?!" I exclaim, quickly approaching them, but the desperate screams with which the girls reply are barely intelligible. "What is it?!"

I manage to make out something about Tatiana. She and the dog are in the bathroom. Someone must have locked them in, but I try not to put the pieces together just yet. I need to focus on the task at hand.

"Let me through!" I yell at the girls, but they don't move, they just keep slamming their palms against the door with desperation. "Let me through, goddamnit!"

There are grunts and cries coming from the inside, but Maria and Anastasia are too hysterical to listen to reason. I lose my temper and use all of the strength I've got to push both of them aside, shoving Anastasia to the ground in the process. Being a bit heavier, Maria simply stumbles all the way back to the opposite wall.

I rattle the handle, but the door is fully locked. Igor had stayed a few steps behind, watching in horror, but he rushes to my aid when he sees I am having trouble.

Maria and Anastasia are no longer screaming. The cries from the inside haven't stopped, but the dog has.

"Shut up! Shut up!" A man can be heard grumbling. It is barely audible. I don't recognize his voice, but Igor seems to.

"Get the fuck out of there, Kolya!" He yells. "Get the fuck out or we are calling the commander!"

"Do that and she is dead!" The man inside the bathroom shouts just loud enough for us to hear, but his voice still sounds muffled. "If I so much as hear his footsteps she is dead!" Maria and Anastasia cry out in protest.

"Do you think we can force the door open by shooting the lock?" Igor asks me, his eyes wide open in fear.

"No, the bullet could bounce back and hit any of us", I reply firmly. Maria starts sobbing upon hearing this. I walk towards her.

"Go get the commander, quickly", I whisper in her ear. "That man is reckless, but not that reckless, trust me."

Just as Maria begins walking down the stairs, we hear Tatiana let out a sharp cry. The disquieting image of Olga's black eye invades my thoughts.

"Let her out!" I demand.

"No!" Anastasia cries, grabbing my shirt. "Do something! Do something!" I try to push her away again, but she clings decidedly this time, hitting and scratching me. "Do something, red pig!" Her tearful eyes are wild with fear, hatred, and despair. It may indeed be too late by the time the commander arrives. I stand still for an instant, not knowing what to do. It is Igor who drags the girl away from me.

Tatiana screams again. I truly hope the commander comes fast. What did I get myself into indeed? And why didn't I ever ask myself that same question before these girls became prisoners in my own house?

Fool. Andrei is an idiot, but he is not nearly as pathetic as I am.

"We can go for the hinges", I say to my friend's ear. He nods and sets out to point his rifle at the upper one. "No, not like that", I walk in between Igor and the door. "Stand back", I instruct both him and Anastasia, "or better yet, don't stand anywhere near the door, go to the stairs."

"Oleg…" Igor says.

"Go!"

They do as I say, horror evident in their eyes.

I know she is already in danger, but Tatiana could get killed in there if I do this. I could get killed. And what if he shoots me or her in retaliation? I don't even know for certain if the laws of physics will allow this. My years of training didn't prepare me for such a specific situation, but I can try. I know exactly how doors work, and the longer I wait, the more time that man in there will have to react. I roughly calculate how far I should be from the door and prepare to shoot the first hinge, the lower one. The second bullet has to be fired immediately after that or the man may have time to… I can't help but ask God for forgiveness, in case He exists that is.

I fire the second shot at the upper hinge before I can inspect how much damage the first bullet caused the lower one.

I take one step back and kick the door open.